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in this life; in most cases they would only
find one another in their future existence.
Could anything be more romantic?
These two could not be united here on earth,
because the conditions for such an union had
already been spoilt. Even if Sonia could have
recovered her liberty, she had belonged to
another, and the young man, who had kept pure
for the sake of the woman who was to have been
his only love, could not reconcile himself to this
idea. Nor did she feel that she had a right to
belong to anybody else, for the bond that united
her to her husband was not entirely broken.
Now and then they wrote to each other, and
spoke of meeting again; and in her heart she had
a kindly feeling for him still.
So her relations to the Pole consisted
exclusively of an exchange of thoughts, and an
abstract analysis of feelings.
They would sit together talking incessantly,
intoxicating themselves with a never-ending flow
of words, a special characteristic of the Slavonic
race.
For a time all this made Sonia forget the
discordances of her real life—when suddenly fate
struck her with a brutal, crushing blow.
Her husband had lacked courage to survive
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